Her hand reaches toward my face. I reach out to grasp it. Pulling it to my lips.
“Take care o’ him. Please.”
I look back at Tavish, and then at Maeve. She’d just been trying to get me to abandon him and now she’s asking me to take care o’ him.
“I promise. I’ll take care of Tavish.”
“No. Dillon. Take care o’ Dillon. Please,” she gasps, her voice growing weaker and weaker.
Dillon?
Disnae she ken our father is dead.
“He’s dead, Maeve. Mum and Dad are both dead. They died when Graeme Buchanan took ye.”
“Not Dad. My baby. I named him Dillon.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
TAVISH
Realization goesoff in my head like lightning, and I gasp, “He’s on the ship.”
I drop to my knees next to Maeve and ask, “Is he here? Is that why? Is that how Samuel forced you to do those things?”
With barely a dip of her chin, she nods, then whispers, “I’m sorry. Take care of them.”
Her voice fades to a whisper, and a rush of air follows as she exhales. The light in her eyes dims until one minute it’s there, and the next, it’s gone.
“Maeve!” Draven cries out, leaning over her, his lips pressed to her forehead. Sobs rack his body as he gasps through the tears.
I look away, giving him some privacy. My eyes land on the guy sitting on the opposite side of her body. Her blood paints his hands red. He removes his tactical gear, then his shirt, handing it to me, and I pull it over my head. It’s covered in Maeve’s blood, but I’m covered in Samuel’s, so it doesn’t matter.
A roar comes from Draven as he surges to his feet. The sound morphs from his wailing sobs into a deafening sound that bounces off the metal surrounding us. My eyes fly back to himand I watch on as he grabs up an axe and begins swinging it. The roaring cries continue as he hacks into everything in his path.
When he stumbles over Samuel’s dead body, Draven jerks the body up off the floor. His axe whistles through the air, cutting through Samuel’s neck like it’s nothing more than hot butter. The body drops to the floor with a thud, followed by the sound of an axe hitting the metal floor. The sight turns my stomach so violently, I hardly have time to turn to the side before I’m puking.
“Guiding Light, this is North Star One. Do you copy?”
“Lima Charlie, One.”
“We need an exit plan, for I don’t know how many, living and dead, and a boat that looks like a bloodbath.”
“Boss, we got a problem. Or problems, I should say.”
Spinning around, my hands and knees slipping in the blood under me, I turn toward the voice coming from the stairs. I don’t know this guy. He’s not a member of the Society. Come to think of it, neither is the guy whose shirt I’m wearing.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“A friend of a friend,” the guy next to Maeve says while the other guy says, “Cato says to say hi.”
Turning to look at Draven, I ask, “Where’s the Society members? Are Everly and the others here?”
“Nae. I dinnae call them.” Draven rasps, his voice rough from the tears he’s shed.
“What? Why? This is what we do! It’s the only reason there is a Society. This is our mission!” I yell at him.
He snarls at me, his nostrils flaring. “Why? Because I dinnae trust them to protect ye or to put yer safety and wellbeing first.”
